


All Fall Down

by tilly90



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Betrayal, F/M, Manipulative Dumbledore, Mind Control, Potions, Young Tom Riddle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-29
Updated: 2017-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-08 10:39:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11644842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tilly90/pseuds/tilly90
Summary: When Albus Dumbledore tasks his protégée, Pandora Lovegood, with a new creation, the lives of many become intertwined. For the greater good, sacrifices must be made.





	All Fall Down

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Once_Upon_a_Parchment](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Once_Upon_a_Parchment) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Rapunzel
> 
> A couple, who long for a child, live next door to a witch. They eventually fall pregnant and the wife begins to crave the rapunzel growing in the witches garden. The husband begins to frequently steal it and one day is caught by the witch, who agrees to keep letting him take the rapunzel as long as she is given the child once it is born. 
> 
> The witch takes the child and locks her in a tower which can only be accessed by the child (named Rapunzel) letting down her hair. Years pass, and a prince discovers the tower. He secretely starts a relationship with Rapunzel and they plan to run away. The witch discovers their plan and cuts Rapunzel's hair before casting her out. She waits for the prince to return and then throws him from the tower, where he lands in thorns that blind him. 
> 
> They eventually find each other and Rapunzel's tears cure the prince of his blindness.

It was once suggested that to live the very best she could, all must be saved for each precious day at a time.  
  
If she lived like every moment had meaning. If she could make every experience unique, she would be happier and content just to be. If she accepted her body and mind, just as it was, she would be free.  
  
So, she made the choice to unrestrain her creative nature, stop dreaming of her potential, or what potential she thought could be possible, and took a chance on living as she was. It was as simple and as difficult, as all resolve tends to be, once a choice was made.  
  
Pandora Lovegood started rising with the sun, walking aimlessly until it reached its zenith, and made the choice to create what she could, rather than focusing on what she couldn't.  
  
Her husband would always be waiting by the door as she returned. Every morning asking the same loaded question.  
  
“And what of today, my love?”  
  
She would look at him, see the hope and acceptance in his gaze, and give him just enough to assure him, as much as herself, that today would be ok.  
  
And for some time, at least, it was.  
  
She invented a charm that felt as if sunlight was gently warming your skin on a cold winter's day, creating a feeling of such content, that for a moment you refused to move at all, lest it go away.  
  
Another time, she successfully made a potion that captured what she felt whilst gazing at the gentle serenity of clouds as they drifted across the sky.  
  
She drew from her love of nature and looked for inspiration in all that she saw, successfully bottling the awe and beauty of her surroundings. Giving new life to what was overlooked by many, and truly appreciated by very few.  
  
But as she went to sleep at the end of each day, gazing at the dark blanket of night, her hand would drift to her stomach, feeling so very deeply the emptiness there, overshadowing the warmth of the day.  
  
For what she longed for most, was a child.  
  
And as the years went by, it remained a creation of dreams alone. An idea that continued to be a ghost, always drifting into her thoughts, ageless and timeless, unlike her reality.  
  
With time the yearning never faded, and as she watched the phases of the moon and the passing of the seasons, her creativity dwindled. Pandora’s answer to the question, “And what of today?” Became, _and yet another, more of more, less of, but no better than._  
  
She leant on the unwavering love of her husband, to find some replica of the peace she sought, and looked to her patron to inspire her anew. Her patron would often say to her, “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.” And as he always did, he'd send her on her way, encouraging some new task or another for her to devote her time to instead.  
  
It was Xenophilius who finally begged Albus for something, _anything_ to save his wife from the dreams that haunted her night after night, filled with visions of what life with a child would be like and all that encompassed.  
  
And that is when fate spun its tapestry, cutting and redirecting lines, beginning a course that would change everything.  
  
~~~  
  
Albus Dumbledore approached the Lovegood residence, with a twinkle in his eye and a deliberately calm smile; the very picture of friendliness. It was not often that he came directly to Pandora’s dwelling, but needs must.  
  
One look at her pacing the length of her laboratory and it seemed his presence was indeed timely.  
  
“Pandora, my dear, I fear a change of course may be prudent. I must request we sit on behalf of your socks, if nothing else,” the slight smile still lingered, but he was acutely aware of the organized chaos, and bubbling cauldrons littering the bench tops.  
  
Pandora glanced at her feet, as if unaware they were moving of their own accord, and sat on the nearest unused stool.  
  
“My socks are forever in your debt, friend. Patron of the creative arts and socks, you henceforth shall be,” she responded with a small bow, and waved her palm in a gentle arc, prompting a dance of china and tea leaves into motion.  
  
“I gladly accept the title and the tea. Is it calendula, mulberry, and ginkgo I detect?” His senses sharply aware of the particular scents.  
  
“Just so,” she quietly answered, “it seemed fitting to drink calendula with the new phase of the moon starting. The full blossoms are rather lovely during this time.”  
  
“Indeed they are,” he agreed. “How wonderful that such meaning can be found with the beginning of one, and the end of another.”  
  
“As with all things, that appears to be the way, Albus,” her voice remained steady and quiet, but he caught the undertone of melancholy lingering just below the surface. He could almost feel it, like a tangible presence that had permeated the room.  
  
“It is always best not to dwell too much. Stagnancy is the very antithesis to the creative mind, is it not?” he offered, quickly redirecting the conversation with an ease he naturally possessed.  
  
“There has been a pattern to your creations, as of late, and I wonder, my dear, if a new beginning may be just the thing you need. Not to discredit your success, of course, but what would you say to exploring a new sensory endeavour?” Polite as ever, he sipped his tea as he paused, not waiting for her to answer his question before continuing. “It is the visual manifestation of your thoughts that lay heavy on your mind, it is there where we can find the remedy.”  
  
“The mind itself is fickle, Albus, regardless of our own self-awareness and willingness to control it. Our subconscious will not yield; it is its very nature not to do so. No matter how much we wish otherwise.”  
  
He could see she had thought about it; he was really not too surprised, but nonetheless pleased that she had.  
  
He nodded. “It is true, but what I speak of is not complete control, more redirection. In sleep, our subconscious overrides the conscious, what if you reversed it? A potion to implant memory, in effect, to redirect the subconscious thought during sleep. To recreate peace whilst dreaming.”  
  
She remained silent for a time, her eyes flickering to a particular potion that gently steamed, whilst it simmered under the sun's rays.  
  
“Redirection is what you suggest then, Albus?”  
  
“For the time being, I believe it is the best course. You have a brilliant mind, my dear, a truly remarkable gift.”  
  
Her eyes became glossy, and she nodded, obediently reaching for her notebook to begin exploration of her new task.  
  
Dumbledore smiled inwardly, pleased with her acceptance. He knew it would not be lasting, but for now, he was content with what he saw as he watched her work.  
  
After some time he stood and slowly began to observe more closely her current projects around the room. The copper cauldrons were neat and orderly, bubbling on top of rosewood fires. She was meticulous in every aspect of her potion work, and he felt the multitude of wards surrounding each as he passed. More cauldrons reached back into the room, varying in metals and flames, creating a treasure like quality from the jewel tones projected from each. It was a joy to see such mastery in the flesh and know that he had funded such prosperous work.  
  
But the real jewel in the room was Pandora’s mind, and he knew there was more that he could obtain from her gifts. He never doubted her potential, and the timing was right for another push down the path he needed her to take.  
  
All would be well.  
  
He made his way back over to her and gently placed his hand on her shoulder.  
  
“I must take my leave, my dear. Do continue on your task, and, please, contact me with your progress. I will wait in anticipation.”  
  
She glanced at him for a moment, a slight furrow to her brow, before her eyes became glassy once again as she met his twinkling blue gaze.  
  
She didn't respond further as she went back to her work.  
  
Albus smiled and walked away.  
  
~~~  
  
The meeting with Dumbledore had ignited a flame within Pandora, and she devoted all her time and resources into stabilising her new creation. At times she would alter small things and later be confused why she had taken that course, but chose not to question it.  
  
At night, as she was lovingly embraced, ensconced in her husband's arms. She would whisper her thoughts, and he would murmur his pride and unyielding support. It was a comfort to hear his gentle praise, and she cherished those moments, using them as inspiration for what she would direct her dreams to when she began the testing stage of the potion.  
  
The final stage of development began, and she added the correct components to make sure the potion would be receptive to females and males alike. Only a mastery in the field allowed one to refine such a technique, and by now she had the correct balance in place.  
  
The first test of her creation finally arrived after months of planning, and the beat of her pulse increased at the thought of a peaceful rest. She looked up at her husband and felt her eyelids start to flutter as he gently caressed her skin, easing her into sleep.  
  
“You are all that is good and right in this world. You are my happiness,” were the last words she heard from his smiling lips before sleep claimed her, and her dream began.  
  
The images were shrouded in fog for a time before they slowly became clearer. Little pinpricks of colour merged and collided until they became solid and showed her a place she had never been, and people she had never known. It was startling, and confusion quickly became concern at what she was seeing; something had gone very wrong with the potion.  
  
A small boy with black hair and brown eyes sat at a long weather beaten table, eating greying porridge with a well-used spoon. The metal itself was so thin from use it looked as if it would snap in his little hands with just enough pressure.  
  
The boy was given a wide berth by the other small children at the table, and the isolated nature of the scene was highlighted even more so by the way his shoulders slumped as he ate. Her throat grew tight at what she saw. It was painfully obvious how unwanted he was, and what was worse that he seemed to be aware of it.  
  
The boy finished his meager meal, and as he silently rose, she noticed how he kept the spoon in his small palm twirling it as he made his way along the table. It spun slowly in his hand a few times, before he jerked his wrist, causing the metal to twist and reshape, becoming a fork with sharply pointed ends.  
  
It was impressive magic for one so young, and it quickly became apparent that he was aware of the fact. The boy stood taller, straight backed and more confident as he continued for a few steps before pausing at the back of a little blonde haired girl who was still eating her food.  
  
His small fist clamped around the fork tighter, his knuckles blanching white, before he swung his arm out and drove the fork into the back of the little girl's hand, pinning it to the table.  
  
Pandora screamed in tandem with the girl as thick blood began seeping into the table from the wound. The other children’s eyes grew large as they leapt back and yelled out in fear. The boy still held the fork in place, ignoring the screams of the little girl who clawed at his hand in a desperate effort to break free.  
  
When he spoke, it was cold and unfeeling, a truly ugly tone from anyone, let alone a child.  
  
“Call me a freak again, and next time I'll cut off your hand,” he hissed at the girl, before roughly removing the fork, causing more blood to leak from the wound. He then deliberately made a show of slowly moulding the fork into a knife, waving it mockingly in front of the terrified girl.  
  
He smirked at the other children in the room and pocketed the knife, making his threat clear to the room at large.  
  
Pandora was struggling to breathe and tried to calm her mind so that she would wake before she saw anymore. But it was not to be, and the fog returned, forming a new scene that was drastically different from the other.  
  
She found herself in a suburban setting, seeing rows of houses over the fence of the brightly lit backyard she was now standing in.  
  
It was a warm, sunlit day, and two little girls were sitting under a tree, playing with the petals from a rose bush nearby. One of the little girls had wavy auburn hair and the brightest green eyes she had ever seen. The scene was the epitome of youthful innocence, as the girls scooped up the petals and threw them into the air. The pair giggled in delight as the petals softly caressed their smiling faces as they rained down upon them.  
  
It was beautiful how carefree they were, and Pandora longed for such a moment, to be a part of that feeling, lost to all once burdened with adulthood.  
  
The little girl, with the bright green eyes, began scooping up the petals once more, but this time, as she tossed them into the air, they hovered and twirled around her like a halo, drifting along an invisible breeze. Her eyes were alight with wonder and awe as she watched the movement of each delicate twirl. Pandora beamed at the sight, not noticing the reaction of the other little girl until she had shoved the auburn haired one to the ground.  
  
“Stop it! Stop it, you freak! Stop that right now!” she screamed, her face purpling and almost foaming at the mouth at what she had seen.  
  
The other little girl, now sprawled among the fallen petals, let out a sob and quickly stood up and ran away.  
  
Pandora watched as the remaining child stomped on the petals until they were bruised and broken, tears falling down her cheeks in her anger, before she too ran back into the house.  
  
The fog blessedly returned, and Pandora startled into wakefulness, disorientated for a moment, but remembering all that she had witnessed in vivid detail.  
  
The imagery was deeply imbedded in her thoughts, but it was the tightening in her chest and the conscious effort to hold back tears, that made her remember how she felt about what she saw, more than anything else.  
  
  
Over the course of the next week, she chronicled every vision she had of the two children, writing down all that she saw in a diary she kept beside her bed. It was curious that her dreams always consisted of the same two people, showing her moments of their lives as they grew. In a way, she felt close to them, and often daydreamed of holding the little boy and gently washing his dirty face, or nuzzling the wavy auburn hair of the little girl and reassuring her of her worth.  
  
It hurt her that a gentle touch or a kind word was so far out of their reach. The three of them were trapped together in her mindscape, and none received protection. It was a cruelty that she, herself, longed to love a child and had to bear witness to such disdain between two sisters and a boy with nothing at all.  
  
If she could bottle love, so that no child ever felt, or knew, they were unwanted, she would.  
  
~~~  
  
Pandora went to Albus after her week of sampling the potion and presented him with the journal, holding all the details of each supposed memory she had witnessed.  
  
His reaction was a deep silence, that prickled at her nerves, as she watched him skim over some of her entries. He would occasionally ask a question, and she would answer accordingly, as she continued to watch him read what she had seen.  
  
He confirmed that they were indeed memories, yet had no answer as to why the potion only gave her the specific details of the two individuals. He made it clear that he didn't wish for it to change, however, and seemed more than comfortable that her dreams continue.  
  
She told him of the attachment that she had developed for the two children, but also of the effects it was having on her in her waking hours. It was an amazing discovery, and she agreed that work should continue on the project, but she felt it wasn't safe for her to take the potion every day, and she would cease for the time being.  
  
Silence engulfed them again, before he bid her good luck, encouraging more success, his blue eyes twinkling at her.  
  
She left, not remembering that she had written a journal, nor that she had concerns over her new creation.  
  
That night, she took the potion, again.  
  
~~~  
  
In the months following her latest great discovery, Xenophilius noted a change in his wife. Her meetings with Albus had become weekly, so he felt somewhat reassured, but he did notice the increase in unusual behaviour.  
  
His wife would still take her morning walks, and she still smiled and held him in greeting upon her return. But during the day she started sleeping frequently, becoming obsessive about her dreams. When she was awake, she would go to make tea, only to realise she had made it three times already and seemed confused that the pots were already there. She would also sometimes speak as if in a conversation with someone else, yet no one would be there.  
  
He chose to believe that she was ok when she told him it was so, and supported her as usual, making sure she knew that he was there for her when she needed him.  
  
But, it concerned him greatly when he often found her staring at shoes, mumbling he doesn't have any, he has nothing, and how she wouldn't remember saying it afterwards.  
  
Her trouble with memory was the most evident, but he put it down to her workload, and gently reminded her of small things she had forgotten. She was so very tired so much of the time, and he knew, at some point, he would have to intervene.  
  
One day, he saw her looking especially pale and exhausted, even with her frequent naps, and decided to call a healer to check on her health.  
  
They were both equally speechless to discover that she was finally pregnant. He had thought Pandora would be overjoyed at the news, but instead, she was wide eyed and jittery, withdrawing even more into herself. It worried him that his beloved wife was suffering. He was at a loss at what to do. His words were not enough, and his acts of kindness were overlooked.  
  
She seemed to improve after her visits with Albus, so he welcomed those days, knowing they would bring a brief respite. He admired her dedication to her work, even as her belly grew, and the bouts of melancholy eased the farther she progressed in her pregnancy.  
  
It was as if her worries were wiped clean when she saw Albus, and he rejoiced that his wife was more content and attentive when she returned to him. Her welcoming smile was enough; it would always be enough for him.  
  
~~~  
  
Pandora was nearing the end of her pregnancy, and she felt it like the ticking of a clock. Any day now that she would welcome her child into the world.  
  
It was why the latest dream she had had from the potion was affecting her so badly and why she was currently waiting for Albus after making an urgent appointment.  
  
She didn't understand what had gone wrong with her potion, and why she had seen such a horrible vision. Hoping it wasn't anyone’s reality, she would never wish it on anyone, something told her it wasn't just an ordinary nightmare. And so, she had come to her mentor for advice.  
  
Albus smiled at her as he entered his office, his gaze resting on her large belly, noticing her hands protectively splayed across it.  
  
“Pandora, you look wonderful! Every week you seem to glow even brighter, such a special time for you,” he remarked kindly, not mentioning the need for her earlier than usual appointment.  
  
“Thank you, Albus. I have a feeling the baby will come in the next few days.”  
  
“Mother's intuition is valuable, I do not doubt it will be so,” he replied, a hint of amusement on his features. “Is that why you called our appointment early this week?”  
  
“No, I'm afraid something has gone wrong. The potion did not have the effects I initially intended. Instead, I dreamt of something that felt more like a vision or a memory that was not my own,” she explained in an anxious tone.  
  
“How extraordinary,” Dumbledore exclaimed, feigning surprise at a conversation he had had many times before, “tell me what you saw, my dear, it must have been quite the dream to worry you so.”  
  
Pandora explained how she had seen You-Know-Who enter the house of a couple with a young son. She remembered in vivid detail how the green flash had consumed the father; his body left carelessly on the floor without a second glance. She told of how You-Know-Who then entered a child's room, where a woman with auburn hair and the brightest green eyes she had ever seen, held a baby boy protectively to her chest before, she too, was killed. It was hard for her to continue and she paused before she retold the last, and worst part of her dream. The baby boy screamed and wailed for his mother as the wand turned to him, and the blast of green light once again consumed the room, albeit with a more catastrophic effect. She told Albus how You-Know-Who let out a blood-curdling scream, vanishing into the insipid green light, as the room turned to rubble, leaving the child among the wreckage with a mark upon his forehead.  
  
Albus had patiently listened, his hands steepled against his lips as he absorbed her words.  
  
“Was the child alive at the end?” he asked, no inflection, of any sort, in his tone.  
  
“Yes. He was breathing, and partially buried under some debris, but was unharmed apart from the mark left on his forehead,” her hands rubbed soothingly along her belly before she continued, “it felt so real. Albus, do you know these people? Has the potion given me a vision of a future event?”  
  
“Hmm… it appears that it is indeed a vision of the future you have been gifted with. It is...curious.” Pandora looked at him with furrowed brows; he seemed pensive more than anything else. It wasn't the reaction she was expecting.  
  
“The potion shouldn't have done this, Albus. It is an amazing discovery, if you indeed feel it is a vision of the future, but I will not take it again. It will need more research to understand the full effects and why it veered so far off the original intent.” A prickling of unease started to build and she felt the need to leave as soon as possible.  
  
“You are right, of course, my dear. More research is indeed necessary. If I may, would you consent to me retrieving the memory of this dream for my pensieve?” he asked kindly, his blue eyes twinkling at her in that vaguely familiar way.  
  
She gave him the memory and promptly left, feeling lighter and more carefree after her visit. She went home to her husband and greeted him with a warm smile, happy that her life was where it was.  
  
It was just over eight months later when she read the news of Voldemort’s demise. The remarkable story of a baby boy that had survived caused a sense of cold dread.  
  
She didn't understand why.  
  
~~~  
  
Luna was the serenity she felt when gazing at clouds, the warmth she felt on her skin from sunlight, and the awe that lit up her being when she gazed at the moon and stars embodied. When she looked at her daughter, she could see a reflection of all that was so inherently right in this world, and it filled her with a contentment she had chased for much of her life.  
  
For years, she basked in the new discovery of motherhood and devoted herself to the adventure that it was. Her whole life had interlaced with her daughter, and with her, she discovered the world again, as only parents do.  
  
She showed Luna how to collect ladybugs on leaves, scooping them up from dew covered grass and watched them fly free. She showed Luna how to mix colours of paint to form new ones, admiring how her daughter’s little face brightened at making something she'd never seen before.  
  
It was the constant influx of everything being new again that sated her creative nature, and it had been years since she had created any new potions.  
  
Throughout her pregnancy, she had tried to perfect a potion that Dumbledore had tasked her with creating. It was a potion to reverse the subconscious whilst dreaming, and instead allow the drinker to implant their own memory of a feeling to control the landscape of their dreams.  
  
A test, shortly after Luna was born, had shown no results, the potion had had no effect on her at all. Albus had reacted surprisingly strongly to the news, almost physically jolting in response to her findings. It was the most visceral reaction she had ever seen him have to anything, and it was flattering, but also confounding, that he be so invested in a single project.  
  
For the last five years, she had sporadically devoted time to altering the potion, but it was more a hobby than anything else. Still, Dumbledore insisted that she work solely on perfecting the potion before they move on. It was turning into her life's work, and she couldn't help but feel excited for the day that it would be successful.  
  
One morning Albus decided to surprise them with a visit, having not received any updates for some time.  
  
Pandora sat in front of the hearth, her legs curled beneath her as she watched little Luna avidly draw next to her. Her daughter’s hands quickly switched between coloured pencils, and she hadn't spoken for some time, so deep was her concentration on her work. It brought Pandora such joy that her daughter was as creative as she was.  
  
Albus smiled at them both and made his way over to where they were seated.  
  
“She is almost an exact replica of you, my dear, and not just in looks, from what it appears,” he complimented Pandora, as he stood before her.  
  
“Little Luna does share many of my interests, but I must admit her drawing skills are beyond my own, even at her young age,” she caressed Luna’s long golden hair as she spoke, and her pride in her daughter was more than apparent.  
  
Albus studied the child, noting the shine of her long blonde hair and the ethereal like visage she had inherited from her mother. His gaze drifted down to her work, and he was about to praise the detail that he saw, but paused when he realised what she was drawing.  
  
The picture was nearing completion, and Luna was shading black and grey wisps of smoke around the image of what appeared to be a tiara, with a large obelisk sapphire at its center.  
  
Albus stared at the image for some time. Questions, answers, and new ideas rapidly forming as he did.  
  
“Yes, truly gifted indeed,” he murmured, not taking his eyes from the picture.  
  
Pandora smiled in response and then rose from her place on the floor, leaving Luna to finish her work.  
  
“Come, Albus, I'll show you the latest findings with the potion,” she gestured with her hand, directing him towards the open door of her lab.  
  
Albus nodded, and followed, but looked over his shoulder at the little blonde girl before exiting the room.  
  
Pandora rapidly started discussing her attempted alteration of the dream potion, as she walked to the cauldron in question, but Albus barely registered what was being said.  
  
“It occurred to me that the apigenin levels could be slightly higher. It is stabilised as it is, but it could be used to bolster the redirected neural pathways that are newly created. I had thought the neurogenesis would be more rapid, but it appears to stop at some point and then quickly decline…”  
  
Albus merely nodded in response, as she continued, his interest in what she spoke of obsolete.  
  
He walked around the room as she spoke, and waited until she had finished before turning back to her once more.  
  
“You clearly have the situation in hand, my dear, I will not intrude on your time further.” He paused, and flicked his gaze over to her notebook, “before I take my leave, may I see the initial ingredient list? For comparisons sake, you see.”  
  
“Of course, Albus,” she replied kindly, reaching around to shuffle some parchment off her notebook.  
  
As she turned her back, Albus withdrew his wand from the folds of his robes and aimed it at the back of her head.  
  
A purple flash briefly caught the sides of her vision, and she turned sharply, her gaze focusing on the wand pointed in her direction.  
  
“Albus, what...”  
  
His blue eyes twinkled, as hers dimmed, her panicked stance melting away in an instant.  
  
She calmly escorted him out of the lab and to the front door, bidding him a warm goodbye and assuring him of new progress in the future.  
  
Albus smiled in the way that he did, oozing a look of wisdom and secret knowledge, which only a man of his age could possess.  
  
“I will be back in a month, my dear.”  
  
“I look forward to it,” Pandora replied, closing the front door and making her way back to Luna, smiling all the while.  
  
~~~  
  
The very next day, Pandora awoke and found she could not smile. Her world seemed to have dimmed, like the light itself had seeped and disappeared from everything that she saw.  
  
What she touched felt cold and metallic, no softness or texture elicited from any tactile surface.  
  
Her every movement was slow, and consciously deliberate, taking great effort just to forcefully put each action into her limbs.  
  
Her heart bled, and she internally screamed when she reached to hold her precious daughter close, and felt nothing.  
  
It continued for the next three days, the constant call for help rebounding in her mind alone. She had tried to tell her husband that she was trapped, but he remained unaware of her personal torture. She quickly realised that what she was experiencing was felt and seen by her alone.  
  
On the fourth day, she tried to write a note explaining what was happening, but was unable to form any words that alluded to her suffering.  
  
So, instead she wrote notes to Luna, telling her how loved she was and how much she had brightened her world. She wrote for hours and hours, until her heart had been emptied of every happiness she had felt about her beloved Luna, and bundled the parchment together, placing it in her daughter's room.  
  
On the fifth day, nothingness engulfed her. Everything was black and white, and she was unable to control any of her movement at all.  
  
She watched from behind her own eyes, as her hand waved at her husband and daughter, who were leaving for the day to run some errands.  
  
She knew it would be the last time she would see them.  
  
Her hands gently shut the front door, and her body turned, locked on a path towards her laboratory.  
  
Pandora thought she would be calm, knowing what would happen before it did, but mania grabbed hold of her. She hysterically screamed her daughter's name, her husband’s, over and over as her body slowly moved forward. The room remaining silent and still, just as inanimate as her own features.  
  
Her screams turned to a cacophony of No! No! No! as her traitorous hands grabbed her most volatile ingredients, moving towards a cauldron innocently bubbling away.  
  
She stood before the potion, seeing nothing but muted greys, feeling cold and heavy as her arms moved forward and dropped straight into the bubbling liquid.  
  
The fissure of blinding pain was a moment that carried on for a lifetime, but the blackness instant, as the explosion tore her and the room apart.  
  
~~~  
  
Albus slid the teacup across the heavily varnished table, to the trembling hands of the broken man.  
  
“Xenophilius, please, drink. It is a calming blend, one of Pandora’s own creation. She would want you to have it,” he quietly suggested, speaking as one would to a small child.  
  
Xenophilius’ eyes watered, the tears brimming and then slowly cascading down his sallow cheeks.  
  
“I will never know what she wants again. She was my world, Albus. I can't bear this. The way it happened too…it…”  
  
“It was painless. You must comfort yourself with knowing her last moments were painless, Xenophilius. She didn't know it was going to happen. It was a tragic, tragic accident.” Albus lifted his teacup and took a small sip, keeping each movement deliberately calm, but reeking of sorrow.  
  
“Are you sure, Albus? Would she have really felt no pain?” he pleaded in response, his eyes wide and begging for a small reprieve from his own torment.  
  
“I am quite sure. Be comforted that it is the case.” He sipped his tea again.  
  
“I will never know comfort again. She was my comfort. Everything I have, and am, was made so by her,” he whispered, the tears falling heavier.  
  
Albus gave him time to compose himself again, offering him silence as he thought on his next words.  
  
“What you are experiencing is understandable. To lose such a great love...it is a cruel twist of fate that you have been dealt. She was a brilliant woman, her mind a great treasure. I admired her greatly, and will forever be indebted to her. She will always be missed.”  
  
“Yes,” he agreed, “she will always be missed. Always. I think of her every moment. It will haunt me, and I'm glad it will. Anything to keep her alive in some way,” he stated, his voice littered with heartbreak and stuttering breaths of longing.  
  
Albus nodded sagely, looking down at the table for a moment, before tilting his head, just so, to pierce the other man with his twinkling blue gaze.  
  
“Xenophilius, for a time, it may help, but grief can consume you. It is a burden to move on, and a burden to remain in its hold...you must seek your happiness.”  
  
Xenophilius’ eyes grew glassy, confusion, at first, then acceptance flashing in his gaze.  
  
He stood to leave, and half turned towards the door before Albus spoke out once more.  
  
“The sooner you seek it, the sooner you will be free of your pain. Don't remain locked in your grief; it is within your grasp to be happy again.”  
  
Albus watched the broken man hear his words and quietly leave, his footsteps becoming surer the further he walked away.  
  
All would be well.  
  
~~~  
  
Xenophilius went home to Luna, giving all that he had left to bring joy to the rest of her day. For dinner, he made her food into the shape of a happily smiling face and danced and twirled with her in his arms under the moonlight.  
  
He read her as many stories as she requested for bedtime, and then laid next to her sleeping form, caressing her golden locks and murmuring his love for her against her temple.  
  
He made his way into the bedroom that he had shared so many blissful years with his heart and soul, seeing memories flash of her being there with him.  
  
He took the potion from his bedside table and drank deeply, not wasting a single drop, before he laid down on Pandora’s pillow and smiled, knowing he would see his happiness soon.  
  
~~~  
  
Luna woke early, and as she often did, she drew what had happened in her dream, before going to rouse her father from his slumber.  
  
It helped her to channel her thoughts into her art. If only to forget, just for a little while.  
  
When she finished, her bare feet made their way to the spiral staircase in the center of the room, leading up to her parent’s bedroom. Her small hand reached up to grasp the railing, her other holding her new drawing, as she carefully ascended higher and higher.  
  
When she reached the threshold of the room, she stopped and looked at her father’s prone form, so very unmoving, on her mother’s usual side of the bed.  
  
She was only five years old, but she was afraid, and she let her tears escape because she knew.  
  
People were never that still, even in sleep.  
  
She remained standing there for hours, her legs pricking from the pain of not moving for such a time. She didn't move because she didn't want it to be real, and she didn't know who she could turn to for help.  
  
The sun was shining down and casting larger beams of light through the open window as it moved across the sky, warming her aching feet. She didn't startle when a hand gently came to rest upon her shoulder, nor did she turn from staring at her father.  
  
  
Albus didn't acknowledge the child’s dead father in the room. Instead, he gently turned the little girl to face him.  
  
“May I see your drawing, Luna?”  
  
She wordlessly passed it to him, and he quickly looked at the image of a boy with a scar, holding a sword, in a battle with a giant snake.  
  
He couldn't have hidden his pleased grin even if he had tried, not that he did.  
  
“How talented you are, my dear. Are there any more?”  
  
Tears leaked from Luna’s eyes and she brushed them away with the back of her sleeve, sniffling and hiccuping as she gazed up at the old man.  
  
“Yes, I have lots,” she whispered. She left the doorway vigil and went to her room, collecting a handful of parchment full of her work, her little knees trembling from the walk, after so long being still.  
  
  
Albus took them from her offered palm, smiling and gazing down at his new little treasure. This was what he had hoped for, _longed_ for, and finally, it was all his. His blue eyes twinkled, hers growing large and glossy as he took her hand and led her away to her new life.  
  
All was well.

**Author's Note:**

> All canon character, plots, and situations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. I am not profiting from this work.


End file.
